


had it not been

by tishtash



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:02:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3323375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tishtash/pseuds/tishtash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian finds it taxing to adjust to life as a member of the inquisition, the rain and the people are unpalatable. </p>
<p>Swallowing bitterness over the inquisitor's refusal to aid the mages as Redcliff is another obstacle that Dorian feels he will fail to overcome with the typical Tevinter finesse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	had it not been

Had it not rained constantly, the trip to Crestwood could have almost been described as “pleasant”. That is if one disregarded the sullen village folk, abundance of ambiguous paths and – of course – the undead rising from the river. Dorian was used to dealing with the dead, his training in necromancy prepared him for that, but these things were different. They had been dead far longer than any body he’d delt with. Years of being submerged made the sickly dampness cling to their flesh. 

This was the first outing that Dorian was to have with the inquisitor. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of her yet and she probably felt the same, that’s why they were here in the oppressive rain. Squaring each other up. 

Holding back bitterness over the inquisitor’s refusal to help at Redcliff was harder than he’d anticipated. After dealing with Tevinter society he should have been a natural at concealing feelings behind glossy smiles. Sadly he couldn’t prevent a permanent scowl creeping into his face or blatant scoffs at everything. He had risked so much to get the inquisitions attention, went against his own countrymen and had to betray a man whom he once respected. It was as though his sacrifices meant nothing to her. 

So now he followed the inquisitor’s lead. Keeping a careful few paces behind her, analysing her from top to bottom, questioning every decision she made harshly. Dorian waited for a fault. Surely she had to snap at someone, help the wrong villager or even trip up on some rock. 

There was nothing. 

If she was so helpful for these villagers, where was she when he needed her? 

-

They set up camp in the castle the bandits had inhabited, deciding to rest for the evening before visiting Hawkes’s warden friend. Everything was wet. The castle was practically a ruin, only some rooms had roofs and nearly all were frozen. With the use of a restrained immolation spell, Dorian set himself up in one of the old bedrooms. Of course, there was no bed of any sort, as long as it was warm and dry he didn’t care. There was little point trying to sleep. 

A knock surprised Dorian. The small body that followed was less surprising. Varric entered with a cheating smile and a “mind if I join you?” 

“Please, make yourself comfortable. It’s not like I was trying to take any sort of solitude.”

Varric shuffled himself into a spot, angled himself towards Dorian and pressed his hands so close to the fire, it was as if he had no fear of being burnt. They sat in silence, Dorian trying to ignore Varric whilst making it painfully obvious he was trying to mentally obliterate the dwarf’s presence as Varric hummed a tune to himself. 

The rain was still beating down, relentless. It was as though it was trying to erode the castle and tonight was it’s only chance of success. Dorian wanted to tell the rain to give it time; even the hardest stone must eventually give way. 

-

Another night of camping in Crestwood did not suit Dorian. This time there was no comfort of the castle. They had travelled back to the original base camp after greeting Stroud, a fellow with a moustache that was a kin of his. That had been the only joy of his day. Eyeing up a warden who nearly jumped out of his skin when he noticed.

Most of the time spent at the base camp was quality time for Dorian and his least favourite dwarf. Dorian hadn’t met many dwarfs before leaving Tevinter and even then they were few, he usually avoided them. Most surface dwelling dwarfs seemed to have an attitude problem. Maybe it was their short stature or their dwindling numbers or some other strange point to prove, but it made most of them unbearable. 

Varric wasn’t any different, in Dorian’s opinion. He was loud, cracked jokes and didn’t understand the need for privacy. Every day it seemed a competition between Varric and Bull to see who could produce the best banter to make the inquisitor laugh. It wasn’t a good competition, she always laughed. Sometimes it would be a subtle blow of the nose chuckle, or it would be a hooting bellow that would have echoed all the way to Skyhold. Dorian tried not to look at the inquisitor’s face when she laughed. Her eyes creased at the sides, her grin consumed her entire essence and it made him want to laugh. 

He couldn’t do that. Amongst these strangers who, like all the rest of southern Thedas, despised him. Dorian gave them credit, each one hid it well but he knew. Oh how hard it must be to remain in his presence for so long. The inquisitor and Bull’s excuse to survey the previously flooded old Crestwood village was an obvious ploy to get away from the Tevinter mage who shouldn’t be trusted. 

“Sparkler, if you’ve got any spells to make boots dry again I’d really appreciate it right about now,” Varric chuckled to himself. 

Dorian glared at him for a moment, “Oh, what a novel idea. Just hang on whilst I grab my book of ridiculous parlor tricks.” 

“Well I thought I’d at least ask,” Varric shrugged, prodding the fire with damp stick, in a futile attempt to rile it up. In response, the sky pushed more water down on them. Dorian watched as the dwarf shivered, wrapped a damp blanket around himself and breathed heavily, a tiny cloud emerging from his mouth. 

Dorian stared at the fire and with a few thoughts it began to burn brighter, hotter. Varric slyly grinned, Dorian pretended he didn’t notice and if asked he would have said he was cold and it would be crime to let a handsome young man freeze to death. 

-

Closing the rift in the old village practically sent the rain into the fade, hopefully to drench some demons for a change. Once it was all done they began the long road back to Skyhold, thankfully they had horses. The journey was still long but horses provided a distance with your companions, silence was acceptable. 

Passing pilgrims slowed them down. The inquisitor felt obliged to ask them how they were, if they were safe, how their homes were and practically ran through entire family histories without even appearing bored. Dorian couldn’t help but watch her charm half of Ferelden on a dirt track. 

“You know, she’s not too bad of a friend to have. Maybe try meeting a place of understanding, get over your whole beef or whatever issue you have with our grand iquisitorialness,” Varric advised on his literal high horse, holding a casual posture even when riding. 

Dorian thought of all the witty remarks he could have made but instead said nothing. Varric was probably right but Dorian had to maintain his wariness, the inquisitor had to prove she was worthy of his trust after abandoning the mages to the hands of the Tevinter and stealing the chance he had to be their hero, trust wasn’t going to be given so simply. 

-

The group camped one last time before reaching Skyhold. Bull went to sleep immediately but Varric and the inquisitor chatted about anything it seemed. Dorian stared at the fire, unable to look anywhere else. He was tired, exhausted actually, but as soon as he wanted to rest his mind would start turning. All he could do was wait for fatigue to take him into slumber when they reached Skyhold. 

Varric still remained after the inquisitor retreated into the tent with Bull, their combined snoring creating an peculiar harmony. Dorian became increasingly more curious about the dwarf. The recent nights they had sat in near comfortable quiet the entire time, Dorian had no desire to change that but he wanted to know why Varric insisted upon sitting with him. 

“When I first met the inquisitor she was Cassandra’s prisoner,” Dorian glanced up, giving a bob of the head as signal for Varric to continue. “I was with baldy fighting demons by this rift and, let me tell you, boredom was more likely to have been my cause of death. He went on and on about the ‘potential of the herald’ and ‘the remarkable fade energy around her hand’. To be honest, all I wanted was shoot him but then Cassandra stampeded in, pulling a poor girl behind her. That poor girl closed that rift, it was the first time she realised she was even capable of something like that. In that same day she tried to tackle the breach without even considering turning back.” 

Dorian hung onto every word of Varric’s. It was understandable how he wrote stories, he strung sentences together with such eloquence that one would not expect from a merchant dwarf. Yet here he was, waiting for more and was disappointed when this need wasn’t met. 

“That’s a nice story, maybe include that in your next book. Assuming any of us lives long enough to carry on with old hobbies,” Dorian feigned disinterest.

“Sparkler you’re holding onto something, I get you’re trying to maintain this brooding Tevinter mage façade, but it’d be better for all of us if you let go of what you got against her,” Varric nodded towards the tent. “You don’t meet many like her, not in this world.” 

Dorian scoffed, “Where was she when the mages needed her then? If she’s so great then why didn’t she help them? How can she still wield her staff with such pride when she left her fellow mages to fall into the ranks of the Imperium?” 

The outburst of questions was met with a soothing dwaven smile, “You should try asking her yourself, she made a choice. No one else wanted to call the shot, risk having a mistake fall on their heads but she took it upon herself. That’s why we’re all meant to call her inquisitor now and bow to her supreme decision making skills.” 

“But why the Templar’s? Surely a mage should feel some com-”

“Anything you say you can already bet she thought about it. She’s learned to live with it and so should you. As for me, I’m going to call it a night. This dwarf wasn’t made for horseback,” Varric stretched and snuggled into the tent. Dorian stayed out to watch the stars, his burden feeling a little lighter.


End file.
